Surely if they were hollow men they would have air inside them and that air would have an atmosphere, therefore they too would feel inclemency and have a tendency to weep. Dante stood on the Ponte Santa Trinita, his eyes on Beatrice; the whole darned Arno in his eyes.
Susan has a back catalogue of poetry collections, including one on the pixy stories of Dartmoor. She recently worked in a crystal shop in Totnes and found herself writing poems about crystals and in the voices of nebulae. Mostly, though, she is driven to write about love in its many splendours. Her newest collection, ‘Temporal Bones’, published by Oversteps Books, focuses on myths from around the world.